Chasing Mirages by Russandol

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Fall

Eönwë receives a message from Mairon, and Gil-galad from Celebrimbor.

 

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30. Fall

 

Lindon, Year 1606 of the Second Age of Arda

On a dark evening of the new moon I lay in bed, gazing at the stars through the open window and reminiscing mournfully of past nights spent with Mairon. I wondered for the thousandth time how far he had travelled and how much longer he needed to achieve what he sought. Over two thirds of a yén had elapsed since his disappearance but the summons he had promised me so dramatically had never arrived.

I had begun to doze off when a jolt of thrilled triumph overcame me, a wave of pure joy that seemed to burst from within as bright as a sun, and yet it was not my own. Grasping the mithril cuff, I found it warm, thrumming deeply at the very edge of my senses.

‘Mairon!’ I cried aloud, wide awake now, and held my breath waiting for his answer.

But it never came. Instead I felt another presence, weak, distant and vaguely familiar, and the joy dissolved into rage before the contact faded. This was none of Irmo’s visions that had once haunted me, but a taste of Mairon’s own feelings through our unlikely link.

However often I replayed the episode in my mind, I had no way of guessing what might have happened to make Mairon madly happy, then angry with someone whom I could not identify. If this brief contact carried a message for me, it was too cryptic to decipher.

My frustration soared to anxiety, but I had nowhere to go to find the answers I so desired.

 

A handful of weeks later, a messenger from Eregion galloped all the way to the West Gate, arriving just after midday, and causing a stir amongst the crowd. When the soldiers asked him to dismount, he almost fainted and fell from the saddle; he was unable to stand unaided. His horse was blown, drenched in sweat, with legs trembling from fatigue. The rider was offered water and invited to rest but he refused, demanding instead to see Gil-galad on a matter of life and death.

He had travelled the three hundred leagues from Ost-in-Edhil in twelve days.[1]

Elrond and I were summoned to the Great Hall and stood at the King’s side when the bedraggled man sank to his knees before the dais. One of the guards flanking him described the manner of his arrival.

‘What brings you to Lindon in such haste?’ said the King.

‘My lord Gil-galad,’ the messenger said, swaying visibly, ‘may I speak to you privately?’

‘Whatever the Lord of Eregion wishes me to know so urgently, I shall hear it in front of my councillors,’ replied the King coldly, but he dismissed the soldiers.

When only Elrond and I remained, the messenger retrieved a wooden box from a pocket inside his tunic and presented it to Gil-galad. The King turned it in his hands, pressing and poking with his fingers at opposing corners and at several points along a simple carved frieze adorning its sides; it seemed to have no opening.

I had seen an identical copy, usually on Elrond’s desk or on one of his many shelves, and knew it hid a secret compartment. When the King finally pushed all the right spots, a lid sprang up. Inside he found a small leather pouch and a sealed message, which he read before passing it to Elrond who, in turn, showed it to me. The note was brief, hastily written.

My dear cousin,

These are Narya and Vilya, the Rings of Fire and Air. Do not be deceived by their simple appearance; they are wondrous devices of great power. Those who have them in their keeping are able to ward off the decays of time and postpone the weariness of the world.

I now entrust them to your protection. Annatar has betrayed us, forging a master Ring that rules all others to impose his dominion over their bearers. Though he has ever claimed to share our purpose to see the marring of Ennor repaired, we never suspected he would impose such unwelcome mastery. Fortunately, I perceived his deceit the moment his Ring was made, when mine succumbed to its greater might.

I sought Galadriel in Lórinand, expecting scorn and recrimination for my past treason, but she was graceful, and most wary about these circumstances. However, we both failed to find the strength to destroy the rings, for they are infused with the strength of Arda and with the essence of her precious beauty, which must be preserved at all costs. Therefore, Galadriel’s counsel is that these rings must be dispersed and hidden from Annatar.

Galadriel also advises caution and vigilance until we discover his true designs. You were right, cousin, and I was blind. Let us hope secrecy becomes our ally now.

Yours,

Celebrimbor

The sapphire and the ruby blazed on Gil-galad’s palm, before he dropped the rings back into the pouch as though they burnt his skin.

‘Take them back,’ he commanded, locking them inside the box and all but thrusting it into the messenger’s hands. ‘If these are Annatar’s, I would rather they go into someone else’s keeping.’

‘My lord said you would be reluctant to accept them, my lord King,’ cried the man, refusing to take the box, ‘and asked me to reassure you. He alone conceived and crafted these rings, they were never touched by Annatar. I have been ordered to remain here at your service. Except for my lord, none in Eregion know they are here, and this secret must be kept at all costs.’[2]

My heart sped into a gallop as this scene played before my eyes. Now I was certain it was about to stop beating and I fought the wave of dizzy despair that threatened to overcome me. My strange dream had become clear; as I already knew, it was no dream at all. I had glimpsed deep into Mairon’s triumph at his achievement in creating a mechanism to rule over those we were meant to guard in Endórë, and into his anger when he realised Celebrimbor had perceived his trickery.

I had to persuade him to abandon his plan. Melkor had already lured him from power into evil once; now Mairon was treading down a most perilous path that could lead us all to ruin.

Gil-galad opened the box again and picked up Vilya. For a while he looked at it intently, and traced his fingers around its outer circle, delicately, almost lovingly. ‘It is indeed a thing of beauty,’ he murmured.

Before we could stop him he slipped it onto his index finger.

‘Take it off!’ I cried.

‘It is fine.’ He tilted his head, as though listening. Then he frowned. ‘I feel…’ He gasped, and his eyes rolled, unseeing. Then he cried out, ‘I am not he! I am…’

Elrond seized his hand, prising Vilya off his finger. The ring fell to the floor with a musical clatter.

Gil-galad brushed his hand over his brow. ‘I am well.’ He smiled weakly. ‘He was surprised. Annatar. He expected Celebrimbor, and commanded me to tell him who I was. He did not know me.’

Elrond and I both sighed with relief.

We all stared at the seemingly harmless ring glittering on the stone floor. I shivered.

In that eerie quiet, Vilya began to glow, while the mithril band about my wrist became uncomfortably hot and pulsed, as if alive, with a suffocating surge of angry pride. A faint rumble grew to a slow crescendo of harsh words spoken in an alien tongue. The terrifying crackle that wrapped every syllable of the spell made my hair stood on end. Without understanding, I sensed the meaning behind the repulsive verses that thundered on, making the ground shake as if the very foundations of Endórë were crumbling away.

‘One Ring to rule them all,

One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all

and in the darkness bind them.’

The compelling might of the vile incantation, a Song of Power vibrating wildly within the interstices that shape the matter of the world, drove me to my knees with my temples bursting and my heart thudding in terror under the onslaught.

Guilt leapt high to consume me in a flash of revelation. How had I ever been so blind as to believe that Mairon had meekly accepted my departure? I had all but pushed him down this road of hatred.

I howled with rage and a pain so intense that I thought Mairon might have reached into my chest and wrenched my heart out with his bare hands.

Some time later, I became conscious of lying prone on the floor, covered in cold sweat. Elrond was calling my borrowed name, his hand on my shoulder. I sobbed like a child who has been shaken awake from a nightmare.

Or like a banished Maia who has walked in the desert chasing a mirage, an enticing promise of cool water and shade under luscious trees, and instead he has found the dry white bones of his dead lover in a sea of barren sand.

 

~o~

 

Eregion, Year 1697 of the Second Age of Arda

A clamour of dismay rose outside the tent that served as our headquarters and doubled up as cramped accommodation for our lord and commander.

Elrond and I stopped poring over maps and troop positions as one of the sentries poked his head through the tent opening to announce the arrival of the scouts.

‘Let them in!’ commanded Elrond.

Two soldiers entered and saluted, hand on their chests.  Their uniforms were stiff with dry mud, and they were swaying from weariness.

‘Gorthaur has entered the city, my lord!’ one of the two soldiers exclaimed. ‘The gates have been torn off their hinges, and vast clouds of black smoke are rising from several points within the walls.’

I almost dropped the book detailing our troop deployment. Elrond listened to the full report, asked a few questions and dismissed the soldiers, ordering one of the sentries to find them hot food and pallets or at least blankets to sleep on.

‘What of Celebrimbor?’ I cried, when we were alone again. ‘Surely Sauron would not dare...’

‘Torture him?’ interrupted Elrond sharply. ‘He definitely will.’

‘But they are... were friends!’ I protested. And yet I feared Elrond was correct. ‘What can we do?’

‘Nothing, Erestor. We are powerless against his army,’ he snarled, before peering at me questioningly. ‘You have something in mind.’

‘My lord, I... surely we cannot abandon those trapped in the city to torment and slavery. Maybe I can... I would parley with Sauron, Elrond.’

‘Celeborn has already offered to act as our herald. He knows Gorthaur, as much as any man can, after contending with him for many years.’ He paused. ‘Annatar will not listen to you, Erestor, not even if you were once lovers.’

I paused, dismayed. ‘How long have you known?’

‘From the beginning, I guessed it might be Annatar, for who else could so swiftly erase from your memory the shadow of your beloved?’

His logic was flawed, even though he had arrived at the right conclusion, but I was not about to disclose the truth. I had decided long ago that silence and absolute loyalty were the only way to redress a small part of the ills caused by my negligence. Wallowing in regret was not an option, when I had once vowed before Námo that I would fight Mairon with all my strength if he ever became a foe.

‘The day Sauron revealed himself to us I knew for certain,’ continued Elrond. ‘Your grief was too great, even for a betrayal of such magnitude, and too personal. Besides, you are good at schooling your features but I glimpse a pang of guilt written on your face every time Sauron is mentioned.’

‘I should have realised he meant to deceive us,’ I cried, feeling miserable.

‘Why should you, when no one else did? At least you have the excuse of being blinded by your affection.’

I remembered Mairon had once said to me: ‘Love is a dangerous emotion, as well as fickle and selfish. While it lasts it makes us blind and vulnerable. And when it fades, we are left cold and broken.’ Oh, Eru, how achingly true! I dropped my head, ashamed.

‘Listen well, Erestor. Gil-galad and I witnessed your despair when Annatar spoke his true identity and unveiled the One Ring; we are both in agreement that you have remained faithful to your oath of fealty. Otherwise you would not be here now; we would have chained you inside the hold of a ship bound for Valinor.’

‘I am grateful for your trust,’ I murmured. ‘Again.’

‘You have earned it,’ he replied. ‘And now I ask you to trust me. I will send a herald to Sauron, to claim Celebrimbor’s freedom. No, not you and not Celeborn.’

He smiled sadly at my scowl.

‘I doubt there will be a happy ending, Erestor.’

‘I know.’ I dared not look at him. Instead I paced to the corner of the tent, where his narrow cot was tucked away, almost invisible under the assortment of armour and horse tack scattered upon in. I picked up a harness and inspected it. ‘I’ll have this repaired, Elrond; one of the straps is cracking. With your leave.’

I made to push the tent flap open, but stopped at the sound of Elrond’s voice.

‘One more thing. Have we had news about the new troops from Lindon?’ he asked.

‘Not yet. No sign of their riders either.’

‘Ereinion warned me about a possible late arrival; he sounded both smug and mysterious in his last message. Maybe he is planning to surprise us with a couple of carts bringing those damned winter supplies I requested months ago. Or maybe...’ He frowned. ‘I recall he also mentioned that someone would be joining us. He did not say who it was.’

‘Eregion has been razed to the ground by Sauron’s army. We are vastly outnumbered and ill-equipped after warring for two years and Gil-galad sends us a visitor to get in our way?’ I shook my head.

‘My thoughts, exactly. Maybe you can take care of him when he arrives.’

His lips quirked. I was glad he could still find something to jest about.

 

Honouring the ancient code that guaranteed the safe passage of heralds, Sauron allowed Elrond’s messenger to return to our host unscathed. The envoy had not been permitted to approach the city but had waited interminable hours for a reply at an enemy outpost, almost a league away from the gates.

Sauron did not waste words:

‘I will release him as soon as the Three Rings are in my hands. Make haste, if you want him alive. Annatar.’

We would never yield the rings. They were not even nearby, assuming Gil-galad had kept his two in Lindon and the third one was in Lórinand, as I suspected.

There was only one thing I could do.

 

~ o ~

 

The footsteps were almost silent behind me. I also heard an arrow shaft slide across a bow being drawn and froze. even before the warning was spoken.

‘Halt!’

Lifting my hands slowly, I cursed under my breath. I had believed myself to be clear from our outer perimeter sentries, but seemed to have miscalculated, unless... ‘Damn you, Elrond,’ I muttered. ‘Of course you guessed.’

The leather of the glove worn by the archer at my back creaked slightly as he held the draw. I wondered whether speaking would startle him into releasing the arrow, despite all training. I kept quiet.

‘Turn round. Very slowly.’

I did, and sighed in relief at the sight of Laergil, no longer a youth whose limbs had grown too long too quickly to be graceful, but a man and a warrior. Before the call to arms prompted him to enlist and follow our lord, he had become a most skilled carpenter and woodturner, maybe as a result of the wreck of splinters and the ruined door he helped me unhinge that night long ago. I fondly watched him court and wed a Falathren girl, and had crafted naming-day gifts for his two daughters.

Now he was a grim veteran of several battles. I had recently endorsed his promotion to patrol leader, though I sorely regretted his zeal at this moment, as I watched a long steel bodkin aimed at my heart.

His icy eyes thawed in surprised recognition. ‘Sir! Are you out of your wits?’ he cried, lowering the bow while easing his pull on the string. I breathed out.

‘Well met, Laergil. I have all my wits about me, even though you may not agree.’

He chuckled softly. ‘Attempting to steal through our watch does not speak of sanity. Was this a trial of some sort, sir? Did I pass?’

‘It was no trial. I wished to leave the camp undetected, but I have failed.’

He peered at me in silence, as though attempting to guess my reasons. He would not interrogate me; I outranked him, after all. He stared at my stolen herald tunic and at the bag slung over my shoulder, in which I carried some food for the trip that I hoped would take less than a full day.

‘My duty is to stop you, sir. We have been given strict orders not to let anyone...’

‘I know,’ I grunted. ‘And yet I must go.’

He hesitated. For a long time I had basked in his youthful hero worship; now I guessed his obedience vied against his instinct to trust me.

‘May I accompany you, wherever it is you need to go in stealth?’

I shook my head.

‘You would not come back, Laergil. And my task will be easier on my own. But I am grateful for your offer.’ I stared back at him, letting him decide.

His smile was pained as he nodded. Then he turned round, until his back was to me. ‘Keep safe, Erestor!’

‘Farewell, Laergil. You too.’

I slid past him and strode away without looking back. I almost wished he had detained me.

 

~ o ~

 

Less than a league away from the city walls I spotted the enemy lookout under a row of black and red banners flapping in the gusty wind. After finding a hiding place for my chain mail shirt, sword and knives, I strode to meet the sentries. An alarm was raised and bows were trained upon me, so I stayed still as stone until two soldiers stepped forward and grasped me by the arms in a bone-crunching grip.

‘I come as a messenger to your Lord,’ I said calmly. ‘Take me to him. I will parley with no other.’

The men spoke in a tongue I recognised as that of Southern Khand, so I repeated my words in their language. Nervously, they called their commander, who had me searched for weapons. Seeing also that I wore no armour, as was the custom of heralds and messengers, he gave orders to have me escorted to the gates, or what was left of them.

On the path I saw a toy soldier with a broken head, half trodden into the mud, then a carved hand mirror, its glass shattered, trampled books with pages ripped out, and many other ruined household objects, dropped by families fleeing the invaders. As far as I could see, fields were burnt, orchards felled, and, Oh Eru, hundreds of bloodied bodies that death had twisted into grotesque positions had been left to rot in the ditches on both sides of the road. I stared at an outstretched arm, its blackened hand clawing against an invisible attacker. A face frozen in a bare-toothed grimace of pain yanked me back to the memory of my first night in the city, to the nervous page who had delivered Mairon’s fruit to my room. The stench of decay mixed with that of charred flesh made me stop and retch uncontrollably, half blinded by tears. A prod with the butt of a spear pole on my shoulder and a barked command made me match the soldiers’ brisk pace.

They handed me over to the garrison in charge of the gates, composed of people from Harad. This time I did not volunteer that I could understand them. Keeping my eyes low to avoid confrontation, I listened to their arguments about who would escort me further into the city. Apparently, generous rewards were sometimes earned through the capture of valuable prisoners, but the soldiers debated whether a messenger would fetch a good prize.

Finally, they agreed to split any winnings and returned their attention to me. I sighed at the  blindfold and did not resist when they tied my hands in front of me. Once the strip of dark cloth was secured over my eyes, a harsh tug at the end of the rope was the signal to begin walking. My frequent stumbles were met with glee, and whenever I fell on my knees and elbows, a chorus of raucous laughter rang all around. I gritted my teeth and remained compliant and silent, ignoring their crude provocation. I had to reach their lord; otherwise my life would end most miserably, and my plan would be foiled.

From the constant uphill direction and the shifts in the way the wind buffeted my face, I was able to guess we were heading, predictably, towards the House of the Mírdain, close to the Domed Hall.

When we started to climb some wide stairs, smooth like marble under my feet, the guards at my sides took hold of my elbows to keep me from falling.

Once inside the building I was led down the ample central hall, the only room a visitor like me had been permitted to enter in the past. The bruising clutches of the guards saved me from tripping over debris, and broken pottery or glass crunched loudly as we crossed the chamber, that reeked of burnt wood and old ashes. Sightless, I counted my steps, estimating how many we would take before reaching the huge set of double doors that I recalled at the far end. Those magnificent doors, made of holly wood inlaid with gold and mithril, used to bar the entrance to all but those initiated into the brotherhood.

Several steps short of my guess, we stopped at the command of a gruff voice that, after hearing the tale of my arrival, allowed us to walk on. Soon I heard a door open to our left and I was shoved through it so unceremoniously that again I was thrown almost flat on my face onto the polished floor. I pushed up with my tied hands in an attempt to regain my feet, anxious to recover my sight.

Then I heard a very familiar voice. ‘Let him see.’

Trembling hands unknotted the cloth, which fell from my face.

It was him. No longer Mairon, or Annatar, but Sauron Ñorthus, Gorthaur in the tongue of the Sindalië.

He stood, clad in black armour wrought of scales like those of a lizard or serpent, arranged in swirling, overlapping bands that tightly fitted his body. I did not doubt it would stay any weapon wielded by the Children. On the table behind him lay a long curved sword, next to a tall crowned helmet, also black, that would cover most of his face when worn. Now, however, his head was bare, hair braided back and strangely devoid of ornaments. On the index finger of his right hand shone a plain band of golden metal.

Setting my jaw, I stood tall, struggling to swallow the knot of pain and rage that constricted my throat.

‘I wondered when you would finally come, Herald,’ Sauron said. His voice still rang like bells.

When I looked into his eyes I shivered. They were cold, with a spark of amused malice. ‘Leave us. All of you!’ he commanded.

The officer who had dragged me from the city walls hesitated, surely fearing to return to his fellows empty-handed. ‘My lord, the prisoner…’

‘He is not a prisoner but a herald, or so you said he claims to be. And he cannot harm me,’ he spat. ‘Out.’

‘It is not your safety he cares for, but his reward for my worth,’ I sneered, when my escort gave a reluctant step backwards.

‘Is that so?’ said Sauron softly, and the soldier nodded, hopeful. ‘Then of course I shall grant it.’

Faster than lightning, he grabbed the hilt of the sword behind him and, swinging round, he thrust the weapon forward and pulled it back with such speed that only when the soldier’s body crumpled to the ground an instant later did I realise that his heart had been pierced. With a snarl, I lunged towards Mairon, but the tip of the blade under my chin stopped me.

‘I said, get out!’ he hissed to his minions.

Immediately, they bowed low, picked up their comrade’s corpse and scuttled hastily out of the room, closing the door softly behind them. A splash of blood on the marble mosaic floor was all that remained to prove that the brutal scene had been real.

‘What have you done?’ I cried.

‘He asked for his reward; he received exactly what he deserved.’ His eyes smouldered with anger. ‘I can see the dust on your clothes from your falls. And I have eyes abroad. He had no right to mistreat you.’

Without shifting his gaze from mine, he lowered the sword until it rested between my arms, still bound. With a flick of his wrist, the rope fell off, cut by the razor-like blade, still bloodied.

‘That man did not deserve to die, but that is not what I meant,’ I replied. ‘Why all this, the war, the death and destruction? Why give up all you had to fall again under His shadow?’

‘You think this had anything to do with my allegiance to Melkor?’ He laughed, darkly. ‘Why would I cling to his shadow, Eönwë, now that he is beyond the bounds of the world? Nay, this is my revenge. The price of betrayal by your master in Aman and his brethren. By the Children. And by you.’

 

 

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Notes:

[1] Based on measurements derived from The Lord of the Rings, I have allowed for a fast return trip from Ost-in-Edhil to Lórinand followed by the messenger’s breakneck ride from Eregion to Forlond, crossing the Lhûn at some point north of the Gulf, then riding southwards for the last leg of the journey.

[2] For the purpose of fitting my own events with those described by Tolkien, there had to be a few days’ gap between the discovery by Celebrimbor of the existence (and the associated threat) of the One Ring and the moment when Sauron realised he would not fool the elves and, in wrath, revealed his true identity and invoked the final piece of sorcery to complete the binding of the Elven rings.

The Silmarillion narrates the events surrounding the discovery of the One Ring very briefly; they are expanded in the later version contained in Unfinished Tales. For reference, I have reconstructed the chronology from the available canon sources (all italics are direct quotes from the cited books):

- c. 1590 The Three Rings are completed in Eregion. (“The Lord of The Rings”, Tale of Years)

- c. 1600 Sauron forges the One Ring in Orodruin. He completes the Barad-dûr. Celebrimbor perceives the designs of Sauron. (“The Lord of The Rings”, Tale of Years) and Secretly Sauron made One Ring to rule all the others. (The Silmarillion)

- As soon as Sauron set the One Ring upon his finger they were aware of him; and they knew him, and perceived that he would be master of them, and of all that they wrought. (The Silmarillion)

In “Unfinished Tales” we are given more details about the events so briefly enumerated in this last paragraph:

Now Celebrimbor was not corrupted in heart or faith, but had accepted Sauron as what he posed to be; and when at length he discovered the existence of the One Ring he revolted against Sauron, and went to Lórinand to take counsel once more with Galadriel.

They should have destroyed all the Rings of Power at this time, "but they failed to find the strength." Galadriel counselled him that the Three Rings of the Elves should be hidden, never used, and dispersed, far from Eregion where Sauron believed them to be. [...] Celebrimbor followed her counsel that the Ring of Air and the Ring of Fire should be sent out of Eregion; and he entrusted them to Gil-galad in Lindon. [...]

When Sauron learned of the repentance and revolt of Celebrimbor his disguise fell and his wrath was revealed; [...]

- Finally, “The Silmarillion” also concludes: Then in anger and fear they took off their rings. But he, finding that he was betrayed and that the Elves were not deceived, was filled with wrath; [...]